


Faulty Sanctuary

by UselessLilium (o0whitelily0o)



Series: Hunger Games AU [1]
Category: Cardfight!! Vanguard
Genre: Alternate Universe - Hunger Games Setting, Hunger Games-Typical Death/Violence, Implied Sexual Content, Implied/Referenced Underage Prostitution, M/M, More/better warnings in the notes, Sexual Harassment
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-01-26
Updated: 2018-02-04
Packaged: 2019-03-09 21:48:50
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,067
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13490448
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/o0whitelily0o/pseuds/UselessLilium
Summary: Hunger Games AU: Shiranui emerges from the arena as the Games' newest victor, but finds he'll need a new partner to maneuver the trials still ahead of him.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> To give a more precise warnings than the tags allow, this fic deals with the complicated position of being a victor, and the threats that come with it, including the very high potential for sexual abuse. No rape/non-con will occur in the fic, but the fact that it could is very much part of the setting, so take heed if that's upsetting for you!

It takes a few minutes, before you understand that it’s over. The cannon has sounded. Your latest kill is at your feet, your dagger in their back. Their screams are over, their breathing has stilled, and despite the blood and pain, yours continues.

Every single moment of your life has led to this one.

You’re the Victor. Not your co-tribute, not any of the other Careers. _You_.

Distantly, you hear the whir of engines, feel the wind kicking up around you, and look above to see the hovercraft lowering a rope ladder for you to climb.

You take just one more look at the body at your feet, then turn and grab hold, and let the electric current keep you in place as you’re safely retrieved.

 

* * *

 

Your injuries aren’t severe. You’d excelled at stealth attacks, after all, and when you had been wounded, you hadn’t had to wait long before someone sent you aid. It doesn’t take long before you’re ready to begin the closing events.

Atago and Mujin take care of most things. Especially Mujin; he makes sure you’re given only the best in the wake of your victory. You go to the recap with a smile and something charming to say for every question. And yet... something doesn’t feel quite right, somehow. You don’t think it comes through in your voice. Everyone claps and laughs at the appropriate points. They can’t tell, you’re sure. But you still can’t shake the feeling.

Shouldn’t you be... happier about this? Prouder?

When you try to think about it logically, remind yourself of all you’ve accomplished. Of how hard you struggled. They show it to you all over again, after all. The story of your victory - the culmination of lifelong training and dedication. You remind yourself again of the pride you’ve brought to District 4. Of what you owe to Genkai, for being the one who survived. But no matter how you try to convince yourself, the wall between you and the feelings you’re sure you should have remains steadfast.

“The Games are harrowing, even for a Career,” Atago assures you when you finally admit your difficulty, clapping you on the shoulder, “You’re just in shock. It’ll sink in eventually.” Mujin, meanwhile, keeps you on track, reminding you of your appointments, the appearances you need to make. He arranges for new clothes, and your prep team jumps at his every order.

“Don’t forget, you’ll be a mentor next year,” Mujin says, simple and direct as you try on your suit for your victory banquet. You don't like the fabric. It feels too sleek on your skin, after your arena uniform. “You’ll need to form lasting connections of your own.”

You know. You do. But much like trying to be happy, the harder you try to imagine yourself here again next year, the less you understand it.

“Here’s a list of your sponsors,” Atago says, handing you a sheet of paper with a dozen or so names, “Not counting the ones Mujin and I have arrangements with. They’ll be a good place to start. They’ve already paid for you once, if you ask right they might be up for something more long-term.”

The way he says that jarrs in your ears. But when you look at him from the corner of your eye, he looks the same as ever. Focused, matter-of-fact. You grimace, admonish yourself. You’re just being paranoid. A holdover from the Games. But that’s over now, and you have a new duty to fulfill for your District. Thinking of it like that, at least, makes it easier to understand.

You look over the list, but the names are just words. They don’t mean anything to you. “Who do you think I should start with?”

“Don’t worry, I’ll give you a rundown before your banquet,” Atago assures, “But I don’t think you’ll have to make many sales pitches. If they’re interested in you, they’ll make it clear.” He rolls his eyes. “These Capitol types aren’t much for subtlety about these things.”

Again, the way he says it discomforts you. But everything does, these days. Even the act of sitting here, talking to him, feels so strange and discordant. How can you possibly be here, a part of you wonders, when just last week you’d had another tribute’s hands around your throat?

So you ignore your misgivings. Don’t pursue them. What you need to do now is prepare for the future, and that’s all.

 

* * *

 

The banquet starts off as just another interview, more or less. There’s no spotlight, but people stare at you just the same. The questions are no different. All about ‘how did it feel’, or ‘what was the scariest part’, or ‘what are you looking forward to most’. You smile, and roughly retell the same stories again and again.

It’s later in the night, when one of the sponsors grows more insistent than you’d expected. She’s older than you - you think perhaps about Mujin’s age - and she keeps shifting herself so you’re forced to move away from the crowds to keep some space between you. “It’s awful to say,” she says, tittering and leaning in too close once again, “But I wasn’t sure about you at first. Too much muscle doesn’t normally catch my eye.”

Even as she says that, she starts touching your arm. You fight down the impulse to shove her away. She helped keep you alive in the arena, you remind yourself. Acting ungrateful and driving her away would only be counterproductive.

“But when I saw you in action - the way you _moved_ ,” her eyes are glittering, and when she smiles you notice her teeth do as well, “Well! How could I help being captivated then?” Her hand moves, sliding up your arm and behind your back. You don’t even blink. Your jaw is locked into a careful smile. “I suppose a handsome boy like you must have to fend off the girls back home.”

“I haven’t had much time for that, I’m afraid,” you say, barely aware of your decision to answer.

“Is that so?” The look on her face, though, gives the impression she knew that already. “Don’t worry, inexperience can be charming in its own way.”

You keep the smile up. If you even try to move your mouth enough to answer, you’re not sure you could get it back. It’s already taking every ounce of your self-control not to attack her while your mind and body are screaming to just get the threat _away_. Atago’s words come back to you, and in your memories they sound like a joke. Finally, she relents, pulling back with, “I’ll make sure to be there at the end of your victory tour. I hope to see a lot more of you, Shiranui.”

You nod, say, “Of course,” and watch her go. Almost as if they’d known to hold back before ( _maybe they did_ , you realize as your stomach lurches), more of the guests come to fill her absence. Talking and flattering incessantly, barely giving you time to process what just happened. But you should have known, you think despite the commotion, you _know_ what hunters look like on the prowl. How did you not see it?

But you look, again. At the men and women of the Capitol. Their eager faces and endlessly digging eyes. How many of them have the same intentions in mind? They can’t _all_ , can they? There’s so many of them.

...You have to step away. Just for a minute. To collect yourself. Even if it comes across as impolite, you can’t care about that right now. You _need_ to breathe. You mention getting some more food, and that seems to be acceptable to them.

Where’s Atago? Mujin? You take a plate and start filling it, just to look busy while you scan the crowd for either of them, but it’s just more of those faces and obsessive, hungry eyes.

Finally, you manage to spot a glimpse of white hair, but almost right away you realize it isn’t either of them... actually, it’s a boy. Maybe a little younger than you. It’s... a bit of a surprise, really. You try to remember if you’ve spoken to him yet, but you don’t think so. And you do think you’d remember; he’s easily the youngest guest here, and stands out with how modestly he’s dressed. A dark red dress coat, a white high-collared shirt. He’s almost drowned out in the flash and glitter surrounding him.

He catches you looking at him, and your stomach turns again as you expect that eagerness to start shining in his eyes and get caught up in more grating chatter. But he just jumps, looking horribly self-conscious, and bows his head at you before trying to move further into the crowd.

...That’s new.

You leave your plate behind and hurry around the table, worried you might lose track of him if you let him get too far. Fortunately, you’re quicker than he is.

“Wait,” you say, catching hold of his wrist, “I don’t believe we’ve been introduced yet.” You put on the smile you used for the interviews. It’s the most charming one you have. He looks back at you and starts turning pink right away.

“My apologies,” he says, as you let go, and he faces you properly. “You’ve seemed so busy all night... I didn’t want to bother you.”

“It’s not a bother.” You smile, taking a closer look at him. He’s not much shorter than you, and from this distance you think his hair is a bit more blonde than white. Maybe it’s dyed, but you doubt it. “You already know who I am. What’s your name?”

“Ah - yes. I’m Kazumi Onimaru.” Onimaru... right. Atago mentioned him. His father was head of the power department. A very influential man, though when it came to the Games he preferred betting on tributes to sponsoring them. You briefly consider that the father might have sent his son on his behalf, but... just one look at the boy in front of you, the shy smile and slight fidgeting despite his attempts at poise, dispels that theory.

“It’s nice to meet you, Kazumi,” you say, and offer a hand to him, “To be honest, I’m surprised to see someone my age here. It’s a bit of a relief.”

A rueful edge colored his smile. “I can imagine,” he says, taking your hand and preparing to shake. But you shift your grip, and bring his hand to your lips. He turns bright red in an instant.

Atago was right. These Capitol people have no subtlety at all.

Speaking of which... you finally catch sight of Atago out of the corner of your eye. Looking at Kazumi, you don’t think he’d mind parting ways here. “I have to make some more rounds tonight, I’m afraid.” He nods, not saying a word. You wonder if he’s remembered to breathe. “Can I expect you to come to the banquet at the end of my victory tour as well?”

“Y-yes.” An instant answer, for all that it trembles. You let go of his hand, and he pulls it to his chest, almost cradling it. He clears his throat and says, more steadily but just as earnest, “Yes. I’ll definitely be there.”

You match his smile with one of your own. “Then I’ll be looking forward to it.”

 

* * *

 

He’s as good as his word, and if you were relieved to see him at that first banquet, it’s dwarfed by the relief you feel seeing him at this one.

Because the last six months have only confirmed everything you couldn’t accept so quickly. From Atago’s surprise at your inability to lock anyone down that night, to Mujin’s utter lack of sympathy at your hesitation. Your arguments that you weren’t going to resort to selling yourself just like that, without even trying any other way, were shot down firmly.

“You’re not grasping something very basic,” Mujin said, as flatly as he’d once told you there was no point in thinking of your co-tribute as a teammate, “It’s not a matter of how you choose to find sponsors. It’s a matter of giving the sponsors what they want from you.”

Often over those months, you thought of that woman at the banquet. It’s not the nature of what she wants that repels you, you always told yourself. It was the way she looked at you that you really couldn’t stand. The way nearly all of them do. Like you’re something to be devoured. They must get bored so easily, these Capitol citizens. They want new playthings. Fresh blood.

But you didn’t get through the arena to be someone’s prey. And you were never one to take Mujin’s word as absolute.

So even when you see him, you don’t go to speak to Kazumi right away. You wait, first. It’s easy to keep track of him, now that you know what to look for. You chat up your other sponsors, let them touch you when they want. And every now and then, you glance over to him, carefully, monitoring his reactions. For any sign of anger, possessiveness. But the minutes go by, and he just stays quietly off to the side, more resigned than even disappointed.

Good.

You let this go on for about an hour, and then once there’s an opening in the conversation, you excuse yourself and make your way to him. “Sorry,” you say, in the face of his clear surprise, “Did I keep you waiting?”

“Oh! No, not at all, I’m sorry,” Kazumi says, blushing lightly and tucking some loose hair back behind his ear, “I didn’t mean to hover like that.”

“It’s fine. I’m glad to see you.” He glances up at you, and gives another shy smile. “Would you mind if we go somewhere a little more private? I’d like to talk properly this time.”

“Is that alright...?” Some of the other guests keep looking over at the two of you, waiting for an opening, and it’s clear he notices as well as you do. “It’s your party, I probably shouldn’t monopolize-”

“Like you said, it _is_ my party,” you say, leaning close to him with a grin. “And you’re the one I want to talk to. Can’t I?” It takes a few moments of hesitation before, finally, he nods. You take his hand, and lead him away from the main banquet. There’s no place completely devoid of people - at the very least, there’s security almost everywhere. But you manage to find a quiet section of garden you’re allowed in. Once or twice you catch someone about to approach you, but they take one look at the boy with you and have the sense to turn back.

You get to be the interviewer this time. You ask him if he’s enjoying the party, if he goes to them often. He shakes his head and admits this is the only time he’s sponsored a tribute.

“I’m honored then,” you say, “What made you want to this time?”

“Well...” He hesitates, looking off somewhere as he remembers. “I suppose, I admired the way that you kept looking out for Genkai, in the arena.” It surprises you that he remembers her name. Whenever other people talk about the other tributes, they keep saying things like ‘the boy from District 1’, or ‘that girl who was with you’. His fingers lace together, and his smile turns soft and fond. “I thought... it was wonderful, that you could still work so hard for her, and be concerned for her, even under the circumstances. That you didn’t give up. When I saw that, I just... wanted to help you, somehow.”

You decline to ask why, if your concern for her was what he cared about, he didn’t just help her instead. It would only upset him, and there’s no point in any answer. Your feelings aren’t as simple as wishing she were here in your place.

“I’m glad,” you say instead, stepping closer to him, leaning your face towards his. “And do you still feel that way?”

He stills then, eyes wide as he steps back, and you keep a tight lid on your alarm until he says, “I - I do, but-” his eyes dart to and from you, his face tight and expression more complicated than you can unravel in the seconds you’re given, “You don’t have to - to do anything. I’ll help, no matter what, so, please don’t force yourself.”

...You have to bite back a laugh. Really, only a citizen of the Capitol could be this naive while thinking themselves understanding. But you do allow yourself a smile, and wrap an arm around his waist, keeping him from retreating further. “Did you think that’s the only reason I’m doing this?”

He blinks. You let yourself admit that his eyes are a pretty shade of gold. “...Isn’t it?”

“No,” you say, honestly, “It’s true I’d like to work with you going forward. But there’s other reasons too.” He looks at you, and you can see how badly he wants to believe you. “I’m not forcing myself. You’re the only person here I was really hoping to see.”

You wonder if he’ll push the matter, ask why, what your reasons are. But the only question he asks is a quiet and hopeful, “Really?”

“Really.” You smile again, then pull him close to you. This time he doesn’t pull away when you lean down to kiss him. He’s tense, but you can feel him brimming with nerves and want in your arms, and it only takes a small push for him to let go of his pretense of hesitation. When you finally release him, he’s breathless and flushed, and clinging to your arm with a strength that might have concerned you if you couldn’t see his face. But there’s no threat to you in his stunned disbelief, or the happiness beginning to seep into it.

If you weren’t sure before, you are now. He is, without question, your best option. You’ll have his money, his support, whatever protections his family name will afford, and he can go home and tell himself this is all a pretty little romance. _It’s win-win_ , you think, with only a touch of derision.

“I’ll be expecting to see you again, at the next Games,” you say, barely giving him time to nod before you kiss him again, deeper, cupping the back of his head with one hand. There’s no hesitation at all in his reaction - his reception - this time. You hear footsteps come, pause, then hurry off again, and manage not to smile against Kazumi’s mouth. Whoever it is, hopefully they’ll spread the word.


	2. Chapter 2

When they find out what you’ve done, neither Atago nor Mujin finds your plan especially clever. “Do you realize how risky it is, putting yourself at one person’s mercy?” Atago asks on the train back, “If things go badly with him, you won’t have any alternatives to fall back on.”

“And it’s the tributes who are going to pay in the end, if you can’t do this right,” Mujin says.

You ignore them. You’d earned the right to decide for yourself how you’d act as a mentor, and they eventually have no choice but to give up and accept your decision. Besides, you’re all too busy to keep up the argument. There’s only six more months until the next Games, and you may not need to go to school or work now, but you’re not the kind of person to lay around the house. You have potential Careers lining up to volunteer, after all. It’s part of your job to make sure they’re prepared, and that only the absolute best are allowed to take part.

Kazumi’s impressed by all this when you tell him. He asked if he could call you back at the party, and you agreed to it, but with some reservations. Flustering him in person was a simple matter. Keeping that up over the phone could’ve been more complicated. Fortunately, those worries were assuaged quickly. He can’t manage to talk more than once a week or two, and when he does, he hangs off your every word. Everything you have to say is fascinating to him, whether about training sessions or what you had for lunch that day.

It reminds you, a little, of the way the trainees act around you now. Even when you were still a potential tribute like them, you were aware many of the younger Careers looked up to you, and your new status as a Victor has only exacerbated that. They listen to your every instruction, constantly asking for advice and ways to improve. You’re glad to see it. You want them as prepared as possible for what they’ll be going into.

Overall, you enjoy the routine, even Kazumi’s part in it. Every day is busy, to the point where most nights you’re just about collapsing when you finally get back into your new bed. All you can think about is your students and their performance and what you can do the next day to help them improve it. You’re so absorbed in the training, that the arrival of the Games itself is jarring.

It’s foolish, you know that. The whole point of training your students is so they can participate. You know that. But when you, Atago, and Mujin discuss who will be allowed to volunteer this year, you find yourself hesitating to name anyone. They’ve worked hard, you know, but... are any of them ready? _Really_ ready?

In the end, though, the three of you come to a decision. Torasada and Jirokichi light up when they’re names are announced, laughing and being cheered on by their fellow trainees.

You watch it, and remember. Just last year that was you. Grinning and swearing with everything you have that you’ll bring honor to your district. Genkai had promised just the same. And the year before that, you’d cheered for the older tributes, knowing they’d either return in glory or die with pride.

You watch, and you try to feel that same thrill. Remember it. But there’s nothing left. And why not? After all, back then, your role was to watch and train and fight. Now, you’re meant to help them. In which case, there’s no pride to be found in letting them die.

 

* * *

 

The rules are two mentors for two tributes, so Mujin stays behind. You need to gain experience, he says, and as the oldest victor for the district, he’ll be the one taking leave this year. The plan is for you to work on the next few Games with Atago, and once you’ve gotten a handle on how it all works, the three of you will start rotating properly.

You can tell how excited your tributes are about this. Atago and Mujin were both widely respected and established, but these two of them look at you with unflinching open adoration. Atago’s victory was just over ten years ago, when they were both too young to appreciate it; it’s yours they’ve both focused on in their final year of preparation. You hold back an impulse to remind them that this only your first year as a mentor. That you haven’t earned that kind of respect yet. But discouraging them from listening to you seems counterproductive; all you can do is try to deserve their attention. Whatever questions they have about your Games, you answer, and try to explain the parts that didn’t make it to the screen. It still doesn’t feel like enough, to really make them understand how it’s going to feel in there.

The trip, the opening ceremony, and all the preparation is exhausting. You think they’ve put on a good showing at the parade - sleek blue and black costumes, mimicking deep waters to reflect both your District’s fishing and the stealth tactics you and Genkai had employed last year - but with District 4 as the reigning champion, Atago says most people will be looking to support rivals instead. To make it ‘interesting’.

Kazumi comes to see you the night after the parade, to greet you and discuss your tributes - what the reactions to them have been so far, and the plans their prep teams have for the interviews. You make it clear that, at the start at least, you’d like him to talk up both of them as well as possible. “If someone shows a preference, don’t discourage that,” you say, “But until they get in the arena, I’d like both of their reputations to be as good as we can get them.”

He listens dutifully, and doesn’t argue, even when you tell him that during the training period you’ll be giving your full attention to your tributes and won’t have time to meet with him. Once they’re in the arena, you assure, you expect him to be around as often as possible.

“Of course,” he says, nodding, “Don’t worry, I’ll be here for anything you need.”

You smile a bit, despite yourself. “Good, I’m glad,” you say, leaning down for a quick kiss, “I’m counting on you.”

 

* * *

 

The three days of training end faster than you’d like (had they been that short when you were the tribute? It felt like forever, waiting for the Games to really start) and you have to move to the aspect of mentoring you’re least used to. Without Atago, no less. He has his own arrangements, “And,” he says, with a disapproving look, “If you’re going to pick your own methods, you have to be able to follow through with them.” He’ll check in with you at night, but other than that, you’re on your own.

Thankfully Kazumi takes to campaigning with an ease that, frankly, surprises you. You’d expected that his biggest contributions would simply be offering you connections, and his own money. After all, in your previous interactions, he’s been so shy, and wrapping him around your finger has been so simple. But now, seeing him interacting with other citizens of the Capitol, it’s like another person. He’s composed, patient but persistent. He doesn’t let the topic stray far, and finds a counter for any argument against your tributes without letting even a fragment of irritation come through. No matter how ridiculous the complaints might get.

And they are ridiculous. Even going into your own Games, you were aware that image and appeal mattered almost as much as your skill in the arena. But it’s still... hard to get used to being on this side of it. Hearing the silly, frivolous reasons people come up with to not help keep your tributes alive, when the memories of what that means in the arena are still so vivid.

“I just don’t know,” a man says, sighing, “I mean, it’s not exactly fair if District 4 wins two years in a row, right? Someone else should have a turn.”

“Surely holding their district against them would be far less fair. Everyone deserves a chance,” Kazumi says, smiling evenly while your jaw is locked in something getting dangerously too close to a grimace. “Besides, you’ve seen how hard they’ve worked for this. Jirokichi especially is going into this fight with a great deal of passion - don’t you want to see how far that can take him?”

The man considers, slowly starting to smile. “I did really enjoy his interview. He had such a fun sense of humor.”

“Exactly!” Kazumi smiles, “You wouldn’t want to give up on that just because of something that happened last year, would you?”

At last, he agrees to put some funds towards sending Jirokichi arrows for the bow he managed to grab. And then it’s on to the next person. And then the next. It’s easier getting support for him than for Torasada, you find. She keeps getting comments about seeming far too wild. The female Career from 1 outshone everyone in all but training scores, and the comparisons are relentless. Perhaps the prep team did their best, someone comments, but surely they could have done _something_ to make her seem more like a girl than an animal.

It makes your stomach turn to hear. Every ounce of focus you have is going into keeping yourself from snapping and doing something you’ll regret, until Kazumi suddenly wobbles a little on his feet and grabs onto your arm. “Sorry,” he says, “I think I could use some air. Would you come with me?”

Of course, you agree, and follow him out of the lounge into a hallway. When the door shuts behind you, he lets go of your arm, and you ask, “What’s wrong?”

Looking somewhat bashful, he admits, “Nothing. You just seemed a little upset in there. I thought maybe you could use a break. Was I wrong...?”

“...No.” You sigh, crossing your arms. If he could tell, you must not have been hiding your irritation as well as you thought. “Thank you.” Looking back towards the lounge, where the potential sponsors are eating and chatting amongst themselves, while the Games play on a wall-size screen. No sign of your own right now, which likely means they aren’t involved in any action, but makes you anxious anyway. “But I’ve got to get used to this. I can’t hide from part of my job.”

“It’s alright - we’ve been going at this all day. You can at least rest for a few minutes.”

You tap your fingers against your arm. He doesn’t understand. Every second matters in the arena. How can you take a break when your tributes can’t?

But he is trying to be considerate towards you. That’s not exactly something you want to discourage. “I do appreciate it,” you say, reaching over and giving his hand a small squeeze, “But the tributes come first.”

He blushes lightly, and nods with more speed than necessary. “Of course. Then... maybe next time, you can say you have a meeting with Atago, or something like that? Then I’ll stay and keep working on the sponsors for you?”

...You can’t actually think of a good argument against the idea. But still, Atago’s warning about over-dependence leaves you uneasy with the idea. Finally, you settle on, “Just until I get more used to this. I don’t want to make you do everything either.”

“I don’t mind,” he says, keeping his eyes down while he laces his fingers with yours and smiles softly, “I like doing things for you.” Looking at him, you doubt very much that anyone’s bothered to warn him of anything.

 

* * *

 

Two weeks later, early morning, and it’s over. They’re both dead. Jirokichi went first about half a week earlier, shot down from a tree he was hiding in. Even if he hadn’t been finished off quickly, he wouldn’t have lasted long with the leg he broke from the fall. You suppose it’s better it wasn’t drawn out. Torasada, to many people’s surprise, actually makes it to the final six. She allowed herself a moment of grief over Jirokichi that warmed many in the audience to her, ‘wild’ or not. But by that point what alliances remained were breaking down, and unfortunately when facing a former partner of hers, that same sentimentality stayed her hand just a moment too long. That’s all it can take, in there.

Atago found out first, and stopped by to watch the recap with you. As it finishes, he sighs, pats your shoulder. “You’ll get used to it,” he says simply, “Try to relax for today. We can discuss what’s next tomorrow.” You must nod, or agree, or something, because he gives your shoulder a small squeeze and leaves without another word.

You just keep your eyes on the screen. You want to replay it - the whole thing, everything that happened to both of them. Figure out what you could do better next time. What you could have taught them better. You somehow forget about Kazumi completely, until you hear the door open again and are surprised when it’s him and not Atago. “Shiranui,” he says, hurrying over to you, “Sorry, I came over as soon as I heard... are you alright?”

“It happens,” you say, tonelessly, “Two Victors in a row would be too much to hope for, I guess.”

Your eyes are still on the screen, but you see him fidget in the corner of your eye. “Um... you haven’t eaten anything yet, right? Let me order you something, maybe-”

“Don’t bother.” He flinches at the edge in your voice. “I’m not hungry. And we’re not doing anything today anyway.”

He wavers, looks down. “Sorry.” You don’t say anything, just keep staring ahead. “I’ll leave. I’m sorry.”

As his coattails start to slip out of your field of vision, though, you say, “...Wait.” His footsteps pause. Being alone... just doesn’t feel like a good idea, right now. “Don’t. It’s fine.” You sigh, look over at him and motion for him to come closer. He hesitates, but does as requested and sits down on the couch next to you. You put a hand on his shoulder and pull him right against your side. It does help, you think. Having something warm and solid here with you. “Talk about something,” you say, finally turning the screen off, “Anything, I don’t care what.”

“Alright. Um...” You feel some nervous tension still in him, but he rests his cheek against your shoulder instead of trying to move out of your grip. After a few seconds of floundering, he latches onto some story about a classmate of his, and how she’d broken out into the fashion industry just recently and plans to work on a prep team next year. Most of the details go right over your head. It’s all silly, useless nonsense, after all. But the noise, his voice, does manage to distract you from everything you did wrong the last couple of weeks.

“And Miguel - from our class - he’s really gotten serious about his painting. He actually managed to convince Antero Gentian to mentor him when he’s finished with school. Everyone was talking about it for weeks.” He pauses. “I... still haven’t decided on what I’ll do after. My father thinks I should go into government work, like him.”

The careful, slightly clipped tone of those words catches your attention. “You don’t want to?”

He smiles thinly, but doesn’t answer. After a moment, he says, “Shiranui... during your tour, you got to visit every District, right?”

“Of course.”

“When you were in 5, did you...” He trails off, and you can’t see his expression well from this angle. Eventually, he just shakes his head and says, “No, nevermind.”

You manage not to roll your eyes. “Come on, what is it?”

He laughs, quick and light. “Really, it’s nothing. My father just used to have business trips out to the district, but he didn’t really tell me much about it. So I was a little curious what it was like.”

You don’t know why he’s trying to hide something from you, but you do know you have enough of your own problems. You’re not about to go digging into his. “...The buildings were very tall,” you say instead, “Though compared to here, they probably wouldn’t seem very impressive. It was darker, too. There were a lot of mountains around, and most of the lights were in the power plants.” You consider. “I thought the dam was impressive, though.”

“I see...” For a few seconds, he’s quiet, and you consider prompting him. Then, almost all in one move, he shifts himself up into a kneeling position next to you, wrapping his arms loosely around your shoulders. “...I _am_ sorry,” he says, softly, “Next year, I’ll work harder. I swear.”

It takes a moment to adjust, but you manage to relax a little, and reach up to pet his hair. You suppose you should reassure him that it’s alright. That it wasn’t anything he did wrong. But the best you can manage is, “We both will, then.”

He nods against you, and stays there, face against your neck. You twine your fingers through his hair, and try not to let your eyes drift back to the blank screen.

 

* * *

 

The days in between the death of your second tribute and the end of the Games are by far the most tedious part. Nothing to do, and nothing to really keep your mind occupied. Just a small get-together to arrange for Jirokichi and Torasada’s sponsors, to thank them and hopefully encourage them to help your tributes next year too. At least then you might have a better chance earning some sympathy, Atago says, now that District 4 won’t be the reigning champions.

With even that even finished, you spend most of the remaining days with Kazumi. You could probably come up with some excuse to get some time alone, but you suppose he deserves a more personal reward for all his work this year. And besides... he’s nice to have around right now. Talking with Atago, you keep sensing disapproval and irritation behind his words. And the few times you’ve tried going out on your own, another sponsor hasn’t failed to approach you. None of them touch you, and no one says anything outright. But you can feel the questions they aren’t asking. In the way their eyes linger on you, the way they avoid actually saying Kazumi’s name when they talk about how difficult it must be, having to rely on someone so young. And isn’t he quite selfish, keeping you all to himself?

You don’t know if it’s going to be like this all the time, or if it’s just because you’re new and they think your loss this year might have swayed you. Either way, you soon give up on going anywhere without Kazumi at your side. It’s the only way to keep the vultures at bay.

When the Games end and celebrations break out all over the city, you agree to go out with him to one. It’s something to do, anyway, and you hope going somewhere more visible will make the state of your partnership clearer to anyone still questioning. He takes you to a party his friend, Miguel, is hosting, and while you were vaguely aware that he knew quite a few of the ‘artistic’ sort, the flashiness of their Capitol fashions never fail to baffle you. “Are those permanent? They must take a lot of time,” you say, eyeing a woman whose skin is patterned like scales, complete with false gills on her neck.

He laughs. “I’m afraid I don’t know much about enhancements either. But Verno says a lot of them are actually fairly simple procedures. She’s tried to talk me into a few, but I don’t think they’d suit me.”

You look more closely at the people around you. Some with hands that look more like talons, others with glowing eyes, and still others parading a pair of horns. As fashion, something to be tried on and discarded with the seasons, you can’t stand the idea. But... you did want to make a statement, didn’t you? After a few moments of consideration, you turn to Kazumi with a smile. “Maybe I should speak with her, then. I think we’d agree on that.”

“Eh?” He blinks, then, almost wary, starts to smile, “That’s a joke, right?”

“Not at all. In fact, we could match.” You brush some of his hair out of his face, letting your thumb trace his ear. “I’d like knowing we shared something everyone could see. For when I’m not here.”

He drops his eyes, laughing a little as he turns pink. “Well, when you put it like that... it might be nice.”

When you part a few days later, your eyes are both slit-pupiled and brighter than natural, and your ears are sculpted into a small mimicry of dragon wings. When it came down to it, he declined to match you in fangs and claws. That’s fine, though. He’s not the one who needs them.

 

* * *

 

After the failure of your first year, you try to go into the second determined to not let the Capitol citizens rattle you. You have some experience with ‘selling’ your tributes now, and at this point most of the people who were interested in you should be well aware of your commitment with Kazumi. Kazumi, too, assures you that he’s been keeping contact with the sponsors from last year, and several have expressed interest in seeing who you’ll bring this year.

There’s a lot of buzz going around about the Victor’s son who was Reaped this year, but Kurenai and Seizui manage to attract some notice anyway. Kurenai is applauded for her elegance in the parade, despite later coming across as stiff in her interview, and people apparently find Seizui’s blunt attitude refreshing. Their scores after training, too, help attract some attention. It’s not a bad way to start.

And then the Games begin, and you notice what kind of gimmick they’ve chosen.

Non-lethal weaponry. Tools for immobilization, disarming, paralysis. No one going into the arena prepared for quick, easy kills will find any help from the Gamemakers this time. No, the ones who will be best equipped are those who are both knowledgeable in sneak attacks, and prepared to get their hands dirty. It’s everything you knew best, and worked hardest to pass on to the two of them, and it’s not long before they prove how well they’ve learned from you.

You’re not taking this year lightly. If anything, the advantage your tributes have makes you want to work harder to earn them support from the sponsors, so they can make the most of it. You and Kazumi both campaign every chance you get, coaxing and wheedling every scrap you can get out of these Capitol hands. But you can’t deny that knowing how well-suited they are to this kind of fight makes you feel _eager_ , in a way you never were last year.

The more days pass, the more you’re brimming with nervous, almost giddy energy, and the more you need an outlet for it. During the day, you can put it all into your work, but there’s very few sponsors willing to stay up all night when the tributes are less active, and you do need to sleep once in a while.

You start asking Kazumi to spend the night with you. He hesitates the first time, much like he did in the garden, but just like then his own want comes through clearly regardless, and he doesn’t bother feigning reluctance for very long.

His willingness isn’t a surprise. You own enjoyment, however, is. You’d gone into this arrangement prepared to go through whatever motions would keep him happy, but he requires so little for that. Last year you never went beyond kissing, and you wonder if it ever would, without your initiation. But you’re surprised at how much you like what you do with him. It’s cute, the way he tries to hold his reactions back, and drawing them out of him with your hands and mouth never fails to entertain. “You can- can bite me,” he offers at one point, “If you want,” and both the ease with which your sharpened teeth sink into him and the way he cries out and clings to you when they do makes you shiver.

Sleep comes relatively easier after, even with him nestled up against you. But when you wake, there’s a nagging sense of guilt left over. The Games are still going on. Do you actually have a right to enjoy yourself, while Kurenai and Seizui are still struggling? If you let the thought linger too long, it makes you sick. You try to remember, instead, that your own feelings about it are, and always have been, irrelevant. Kazumi is useful, is owed repayment, and you were always going to have to do this sort of thing with him someday. If it didn’t matter when you were reluctant, why should it matter when you’re not?

 

* * *

 

“How...”

“Her popularity has been dropping,” Atago says, in that slightly irritated way, “You know that as well as I do.”

You tear your eyes away from the screen to snap, “ _Shut up_ ,” and he obliges, watching you with obvious impatience. You’re drawn back to the screen, trying to process. How the hell did that kid from District 5 do it? How is it even _possible_ he managed to kill Kurenai?

Her body is still on the screen, and you just keep staring at it. Expecting her to stand back up, maybe. To reveal it was just a trick, to get that red-headed brat to drop his guard. But even before the cannon sounds and confirms it, you know there’s no way that’s true. Not with the brutality of the fight still replaying in your head, and the injuries she’d sustained even before it started.

“Did you think she’d be able to get away with slinking around in the shadows forever?” Atago says, “It doesn’t make for good entertainment. And she was acting far too calculated. Hard to sympathize with someone who kills like that.”

“She was doing what she _trained_ to do,” you snarl, “Why should she have thrown herself into danger when she had ways to avoid it?”

“I’m just telling you what people in this city think.”

“Did you tell _her_ , then? You were her mentor too. If you think she was doing something wrong-”

“I gave her and Seizui advice, like you did. But you know how much they admire you.” You flinch, and find yourself unable to even look away from him now. He holds your gaze, straight and unforgiving. “You don’t think they’d follow your lead perfectly if they could?” After a few long seconds, he finally releases you and looks away. “Eventually, that will fade. But in the meantime, you need to be more responsible with how you direct them.”

You can’t say anything to that. You can’t deny anything. It’s all true, you’ve known from the start. The ease with which they accepted your every suggestion. The ways they’ve tried to emulate you. Even on the train, they were asking for help developing codes for communication - the two of them wanted to help each other, at least to start, like you and Genkai did.

He stays still, seeming to wait for the retort that isn’t coming, and finally stands. “And you _need_ to figure out how to stop taking these losses so personally,” he says, “You’re going to have more of them than you will victories.” You stiffen, caught between wanting to lash out at him, and wanting to just block out what he’s saying. You can’t just accept it so easily. You won’t.

“There just... has to be something,” you finally say, voice hoarse, “Something else I can do to help them.”

“You know perfectly well what more you could be doing.” There’s no more chilly irritation. Now his disgust bleeds out into his voice completely. “Do you think I _like_ running around and throwing myself at these people’s feet? Do you think Mujin did? But we still did it - we did it to help you, and for the tributes before and after you.” You can’t move. You can’t even breath, your whole body is numb and paralyzed. “If you’re going to be selfish, you can at least own up to the consequences.”

Your chest hurts, but you still can’t breath. You feel something wet slipping through your fingers and glance down at it. They’re clenched into a fist, and you must have forgotten how sharp your nails are now, from how badly you seem to be bleeding.

Atago looks at your hand, and after a moment, sighs and just says, “Seizui is still in the running. And he’s still well-liked. When you think you’ve pulled yourself together, we’ll get back to work.”

“...Alright,” is all you can say. He makes an affirmative noise, and heads out of the room. Alone, you loosen your grip, wincing at the sting from easing your claws out of your palms. They’re shaking, you realize, and you move to order bandages without thinking. It all happens automatically. Seizui is still fighting. That’s what you try to focus on. This isn’t the time to sit around here and feel sorry for yourself, not when there’s so few tributes left.

That red-head... Chrono Shindou. At the start, you’d thought everyone was making too much fuss over him. Lineage means nothing; whether his father was a Victor or not, it was training and skill that really mattered. And yet. He’s still alive, and Kurenai is not.

Had Seizui seen any of that boy’s fights? You hope so. You want him to know what to watch out for.

 

* * *

 

It doesn’t matter whether he did or not, in the end. Seizui dies without ever running into Shindou. After Kurenai’s death, he started being more aggressive, took more risks. And finally he took one that was just a little too big, and was killed by another Career.

The news feels far away, when you hear it. You’d barely slept since Kurenai fell. Maybe that’s why. Or maybe you’d just known this would happen. Because you’re not good enough yet. You’re not doing what you’re supposed to. You’re being selfish, and your tributes are paying for it.

But you remember the way they look at you. These people. You can’t... you can’t have to let them do whatever they like. That can’t be what you’re alive for.

But what else are you supposed to do? What other options do you _have_?

Your thoughts chase each other, relentlessly, until you find yourself calling for Kazumi. You were right, last year. Being alone like this isn’t any good, and the only other person you could send for is Atago, and the thought of even looking at him right now makes you want to scream.

Of course, he doesn’t keep you waiting. Kazumi shows up at your door all wide-eyed and concerned. “Sorry, I tried to get here earlier... I heard what happened. How are you doing?” He carefully takes your hand. It’s still bandaged. You could have had it healed more quickly, but you didn’t want to. You need a reminder of the damage you can do.

“I’m managing,” you say. It feels so far away. Your voice, his light touch. You grab hold of his hand more firmly, enough to make yours sting, and lead him towards your bedroom.

“Shiranui...?”

“You want to help me, don’t you?” Your voice sounds strange, even to you. “Come on. I need a distraction.”

He pulls out of your hold, to your own surprise. You thought you had a tight grip on him. “I’m- I’m sorry, but... are you really alright? You’re acting strange.”

Just like that, all at once, you’re furious with him. What does he know about what you’re like? What’s normal for you? Doesn’t he know that everything you do with him is an act? Everything he’s ever seen of you is just more of the same, a face for the audience, ever since the Reaping. You grind your teeth, to keep from letting any of those thoughts slip out through your mouth.

“It’s okay if you’re upset,” he says, softly, looking at you with such open concern, and for a moment you think you hate him for it. You hate how easy it is for him to be like that. “Shiranui, I... I won’t tell anyone. Anything you do or say. I promise. So... whatever you want to say, it’s safe with me.”

“And what good,” you manage to force out, “would that do?”

He hesitates, his answer faltering and uncertain, “I’m sure... it’s painful, losing people like that. Trying not to talk about it... must make it even worse.”

You could spit at him. Shove him to the ground and make him see how wrong he is about you, show him what real pain is, not the cheap mockery he asks you for. He has no defenses prepared against you. It would be easy. He has no idea how easy it would be.

But even as those thoughts come, you don’t... you don’t want to. Not really. Your anger defuses as you look at him, trusting you as wholly as your tributes did. He’s not the one to blame for your situation. You volunteered for the Hunger Games. You won because of your own will. You partnered with him for your own protection. Everything was your choice.

“It’s... my fault,” you admit, quietly, “This arena should have been what I knew best. They should have been more prepared than anyone else in there, and I still... couldn’t get them through it.”

His voice is more firm than you expect when he says, “That’s not true. You saw how far they both got. They knew what they were doing, anyone could see that. It’s not your fault they didn’t win.”

“Then who’s is it?”

He looks down, sighing softly. “Sometimes... there’s just nothing you can do. No matter how much you want to, or how hard you try.”

You almost laugh. What does a pampered Capitol boy know about struggling? About failure? His biggest problem is not being able to decide where to work - a decision he doesn’t even _have_ to make, considering how many of the people in this city just lounge around all day with no consequence. But there’s less bitterness in the thought than you might have expected. “I can’t accept that,” is what you finally say, “It’s like saying their deaths were inevitable.”

His eyes widen in alarm. “That’s- that’s not what I meant-”

“I know.” You manage a momentary smile. He’s never going to really understand you, you know. He can’t. His whole world is so removed from yours. But you can respect the way he tries anyway, and how badly he wants to help. With a long sigh, you take his hand again. “Do you mind staying here a while longer?”

“Of course not.”

“Thanks...” You glance back at your bed. “I really... need to sleep, I think. And at this point, I’m more used to having you with me than not.”

He blinks, and you expect him to blush, but instead he looks at you with a tenderness that, frankly, catches you off-guard. “Alright.” He leans up and kisses your cheek. “Whatever you want.”

Even with him there, curled against you, it takes a while before you manage to drift off. Until them, you pet his hair rhythmically, and listen to his breathing. Atago might be right, you think, about you being selfish. But you’re not going to give up yet. There has to be a way to win, with him. You can find it if you just keep trying. You’re sure of it.

 

* * *

 

Another year passes, and you try your best to go into your third year as a mentor with no expectations - of the Games themselves, if not your tributes. Last year’s disappointment was far too massive. Still, in the weeks leading up to it, Kazumi easily makes up for you in enthusiasm. He’s determined to do better, and assures you that he’s been busy making connections. It sounds like Verno’s helped a lot with that, now that she’s working on a prep team. You find yourself looking forward to his calls. It’s kind of sweet how hard he’s working for you, you think.

Of course, like every year before, there’s no time to talk after the Reaping. It’s a quick move from stage to train, and then less than a day to the Capitol. You try to be more careful with your tributes this time. Remind them how important it is to keep their audience in mind, and how they might look to people who’ve never fought a day in their life.

And also like every year before, Kazumi comes to greet you on the night after the parade, before the training period starts. But unlike those other years, Kazumi arrives looking... unusually dispirited.

“It’s good to see you,” you say, trying to cheer him up, “Come in. We can have dinner while we talk, if you’d like.”

He hovers at the door, eyes down and hands clasped together, and still doesn’t answer. You pause. Something has to be wrong, but you can’t imagine what. He takes a breath, and tries to say, “Shiranui, I...”

“What’s wrong? Was the reaction that bad?” You supposed the parade outfits looked kind of standard this time, but nothing that should drive people away. Still, if you at least know now, you could pull things around for the interviews.

“It’s not...” His hands are shaking. “I came to say that... I can’t help you this year.”

...

You heard him wrong. You must have. There’s no other explanation, because there’s no possible way that he really just said what you think he did. “...Excuse me?”

“I’m sorry,” he says, and that’s worse than hearing it again. “I’m so sorry, I didn’t know until the reaping, but I- I can’t.”

“And,” you say, very softly, “Why not?”

His eyes start to flicker away, but he steels himself with, “...You’ll probably hear from someone else anyway,” and looks back up at you, “The male tribute from District 5. Kazuma Shouji. I’ll be supporting him this year.”

“...Oh.” You turn, step back further into your room. You don’t quite trust yourself to keep looking at him. “I didn’t realize you could change your mind so easily.”

“It’s not- it’s not like that!” You hear him starting to follow you, like anything he could say now is something you’d want to hear. “I swear, next year, and the year after that, and every year, for the rest of my life... I’ll keep working with you. But just... just not this year. I _can’t_ .” Misery cracks his voice, and how dare he, how _dare_ he act like this is going to hurt _him_.

“Why the hell _not_?” You snap, whipping your head back to glare at him. “Do you have any idea what kind of position you’re putting me in, just dropping me like this?” He freezes, looks down again. Not a single argument to offer. He does know what he’s doing to you, it’s clear. And he’s still... you try to sound in control when you say, “At least tell me why.”

He looks up, starts to say something... then, slowly, closes his mouth and shakes his head. “After. I promise, I’ll tell you everything, afterwards. But it’s... it’s not safe, right now.”

More promises. But he’s just shown how little that means to him. You turn away from him again, spitting out, “Not safe for who? You? Me? Or your new favorite?”

“It’s not-”

“Just go.” If you have to listen to any more justifications, you won’t be able to stop yourself from- from breaking something. Hurting him. Something you might regret, anyway. “And don’t you _dare_ speak to me again.”

You hear him start to step towards you again... but after a moment, he turns and leaves without another word. And when you hear the door shut behind him, the full weight of what just happened comes crashing onto you all at once, and you stagger with it. What are you going to do now? You still have the names of last year’s sponsors, but so many of them are people he worked over for you. How many will still agree to help you now, with him out of the picture?

You’ll have to try, you know. And... you’ll have to tell Atago. Even if the idea of crawling back to him after everything, when you know what kind of advice he’s going to give, makes you want to vomit. You need all the help you can get now.

And for some reason, even with everything else you need to think about, a part of you is still wondering. Why would Kazumi do this? Right up to the Reaping, he didn’t show any sign of being unhappy with you. District 5 - his father used to work there, he said. And from the way Kazumi talks about him, there’s some kind of tension between them. Was he forced to switch? But then why? And why so suddenly, after three years?

But in the end, you ignore them. You don’t care what Kazumi’s reasons are. You _don’t_. Whatever they might be, you’ve already decided they don’t matter. There’s just no possible excuse for betraying you like this.


End file.
